Comes The Dark Part 23

"I wasn't sure which one," Maris said from the couch. "I told you that."

Jamie ignored her. "I might be able to darken this up on the copier."

Maris came to stand beside Dan, the heat of her breath moistening his sleeve as she tipped her face against his bicep. "What are you looking to find?" she asked Jamie.

Jamie slipped the receipt into the baggie and sealed it. He pulled a pen from his pocket and uncapped it with his teeth before writing on the outside. "The date, Maris. The receipt isn't enough. I need to bring up the date and time-stamp to clear you for being in the area at the time of your aunt's murder." It irked Dan that Jamie looked at him, not Maris. "And if it's not the right place, right time, you know what that means, don't you, Stauffer?"

"It will be," Dan said. It has to be.

Chapter 22.

It has to be. The sentiment of those unspoken words bounced inside the chambers of Maris's heart over and over again as she stared at refracted headlights pa.s.sing across the ceiling above the bed. Dan lay on his back beside her, shamming sleep, a distance between their bodies as precise as if it had been measured from head to toe with a ruler. He didn't choose to doubt. It was human nature to a.s.sume the worst. But guilt over his uncertainty held him apart from her. Counting the chimes on the clock in the living room below as they signaled the hour, she let it be, pretending to believe he slept at her side.

Two. Two in the morning. Why hadn't they heard something from Jamie? Was he not able to darken the receipt? Surely, he couldn't believe her guilty when she had been the one who told Dan about it. Of course, she'd expected the paper to be long gone. The fact it had been found should, under the circ.u.mstances, be reason to celebrate.

"Maris."

She jerked on the mattress despite the fact she knew Dan was awake.

"Why did you jump like that?" he said in a tone of bewildered annoyance. "I know you weren't sleeping."

"I didn't expect you to speak. I figured you'd lay there all night, silent."

He grunted, wriggling around until he lay on his right side. "If Jamie couldn't raise a date from the faded ink, he might have to contact the gas station. It'll take time. He's not going to share that information with me until he knows for sure."

"That receipt's going to show what it needs to show. I stopped and got gas on my way here the night my aunt was killed and was nowhere near Alcina Cove."

"I believe you."

Not entirely. Niggling doubt made him flinch in the darkness. She pretended not to see. "Dan, my stomach is in knots. What if Jamie can't get anything from the paper, what if no one remembers me at the gas station, what if their stupid surveillance camera was on the blink or pointed in the wrong direction, or they tape over it every day? What else am I supposed to do?"

He released a weighty breath through his nose. "I don't know. We'll get you a lawyer."

"Not we, Dan. You can't take that stance. You heard Jamie tonight. Fingers are going to start pointing in your direction."

Anger and hopelessness radiated like sweat from his pores. He said nothing, rolling onto his back once more.

"It's just d.a.m.ned frustrating," she whispered. Why had Alva reached out to her, possibly in her final moments, without any hint at what Maris really needed to know?

Dan settled his shoulders into his plumped pillow and then threw his arm over his eyes. "Tomorrow I'll see what I can find out."

"There shouldn't be anything to find out. In a sane world, everything ought to be fine without the need to prove I'm not lying. But I might fail at that, Dan. And I'm sorry if I do. You're going to bear the brunt because of your relationship with me."

He peeked at her from beneath his forearm. "I can deal. And you're not to worry. Understand me?"

She sent a crooked smile in his direction. "Famous last words."

He dropped his arm. "They're not last words. Not between us."

Maris turned toward him, touched his face, ran her finger across his lower lip. "I never would have pegged you for the romantic type, Dan Stauffer."

He kissed her knuckle. "And I never would have pegged you for my type at all."

You may live to regret that, if you don't die first...

"Maris, what's wrong?"

Maris attempted to blink her tears away, but resorted to using both hands to wipe her eyes instead. She sat up. "Ignore me. Just ignore me. It's been a long, rough day. Except for the ride. That was nice. I bet I didn't even thank you for it, did I?"

He struggled onto his knees beside her, s.n.a.t.c.hing up the corner of the sheet to dry her cheeks. "Don't cry. s.h.i.t, Maris, please don't cry."

"It's all right. I think I need to. It's cathartic, like watching a movie you know is going to make you bawl your eyes out but you do anyway, because after you recover, you feel a little lighter."

He shook his head. "I don't do movies that make me bawl so please don't ever ask me to. I'd rather set my feet on fire."

A statement like that hinted at a shared future and made her cry harder. Finally, she climbed over him and out of the bed. In the middle of the floor she crossed her arms over the T-shirt she wore. "What if I am guilty?"

His eyes narrowed. "Could you be?"

"Don't answer a question with a question, Dan. Isn't that what you always tell me?"

"Do I?"

"I can see why you find that so annoying." Dan's short snort of humor made her smile through her drying tears. "But I'm serious," she went on. "What if something so devastating occurs tomorrow that you never want to speak to me again?"

He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, planting his feet on the carpet. "Then I would need you to tell me now if that's a possibility. I'd want to be prepared. Is it, Maris? Is that what this is all about? Your tears? Your questions? Is there a possibility you've lied to me all along and I've believed you?"

You haven't. Not quite. "No. But the impossible happens sometimes."

He rose. "Maris, I don't understand."

"You know the sensation you get, as if a breath has pa.s.sed over the fine hairs on your nape and you know something is coming...something that might scare the h.e.l.l out of you? That's what I feel right now. What I've been feeling. Sometimes I'm sure I shouldn't have returned to Alcina Cove, and yet I was called here. To what end?"

His eyebrows had arched at her last two statements and then lowered into a frown. "I don't know. You tell me."

"Maybe it was for you. And there's danger in that, too."

He exploded into movement, crossing to his desk in swift strides and back to the bed again. "You're talking in circles. My head is already spinning. I can't deal with this. Not tonight. You said you sometimes take sleeping pills. Would you consider taking one now?"

Maris bit her lip and nodded.

"Where are they?"

"Right here in my bag. I'll get one."

"And I'll get you a cup of water."

By the time Dan returned, Maris was back in bed, tucked up against the headboard. She took a pill with water and handed the gla.s.s back to him. "Thank you. I'm not meaning to upset you."

"You're actually scaring me, and I don't scare easily."

She slipped two of her fingers into the curve of his hand. "Do you...could we make love, do you think?"

He lowered himself to the bed, expression pained. "I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but I'm not sure I can."

Maris studied his expression, remembering she had called him beautiful. She wanted to smooth away the line between his brows. "Stretch out alongside me then. We both need some sleep."

He did, and she slid down onto the mattress, turning until she had maneuvered herself into a spooning position against him. His breath moved the hair across her crown. "I can't sleep. I don't know what I want. To be close to you-"

"Because if feels like the last time."

"Don't say that." He pressed his lips against the side of her neck. "Why would you say that?"

"Because that's what it feels like to me." She reached back and cupped his face. He turned his mouth into her palm. Yes, the last time, because tomorrow threatened to alter everything in some way beyond her imagining. She couldn't tell him that. She'd frightened him enough already, Dan Stauffer, the man who did not scare easily. Instead, she rolled in his embrace to face him and slid her hand along his belly down into his boxers. He groaned, but not in protest. "I'm ready now," she whispered, "if you're willing."

He said nothing, tossing her onto her back and rising above her. He hiked up her shirt past her belly and slid fingers down between her legs and along flesh slick with arousal. Moaning, she rose to meet him. He leaned his head hard against her collar bone before seeking out her straining nipple, soaking fabric with the ministrations of teeth and tongue while his fingers explored her below. His engorged p.e.n.i.s vibrated in the hand she closed around it. Fire surged through her blood. He still had not spoken, but she wanted nothing of words from him. She pushed his hands away and wrapped her legs around his waist, curling her fingers into the taut curve of his b.u.t.tocks as he slid inside of her.

"Don't slow down," she said. "Tonight is not a night for that."

Arms across his back, she lifted herself to meet him again and again in heated demand, forcing him with selfish disregard to accompany her down into the place where all things are forgotten.

Dan sat in his car for nearly ten minutes, swinging the keys in the ignition with his pointer finger. Detectives didn't work Sundays unless some case required it, but there was Jamie's car in its s.p.a.ce near the rear entrance of the station. The coffee Dan had grabbed on the way in began to burn in his stomach. He reached into the glove box and removed an open pack of antacids. He popped two into his mouth. He hadn't finished chewing when the back door opened. Jamie stepped out and strode over to the car.

"Good. You're here." He yanked open the door. "Come inside."

Dan closed the window, stripped the key from the ignition, and followed Jamie into the station.

"My office, if you don't mind," Jamie said, without waiting. Dan dogged the junior detective down the hallway. Inside Jamie's office, Dan took a seat, directed to it by a silent nod. Two folders lay on Jamie's blotter. To the right, Alva Mabry's photo alb.u.ms appeared not to have been moved since Dan rifled through them. He thought about the pictures he'd taken from the pages and shown to Maris. He thought about the one he hadn't. By the look on Jamie's face, Dan had lost the opportunity to do so anytime soon.

Because if feels like the last time.

"If you had something good to tell me, you would have by now, unless you're just that much of a s.a.d.i.s.tic b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

Jamie handed him the folders. "I'm sorry, Dan. I'm taking these to the DA tomorrow. I shouldn't be letting you know because, d.a.m.n it, if it was me, tangled up like you are, I'd be warning her as soon as I walked out that door. But you won't. You're a good cop. And even if you weren't, you know I'd arrest you, and what could you do for her then?"

"f.u.c.k, Jamie, whatever this is-"

"Open the folders. Top one first."

Dan complied, turning back the manila cover. He stared at the enlarged copy of the gas receipt inside. Every square inch of him went numb except his stomach. Acid burned like fire.

"Look at the date, Stauffer. An entire day before Alva's murder. She lied. If your girlfriend can't account for the time between with a rock-solid alibi, she's done. And I don't think she can. Do you?"

Dan closed his eyes. What if I am guilty?

"Oh G.o.d," he whispered.

"I hate to say this, buddy, but I think she played you good."

Dan bowed his head, shaking it from side to side. "She's not like that."

"Seriously? How well could you possibly know her in two weeks' time?"

"Better than you think, Jamie."

Jamie made a noise in his throat. "Open the other folder."

"I don't-"

"Open it."

Dan set the first aside. He tapped the file lying across his knee. "What's in it?"

"Open the f.u.c.king thing."

Every fiber of Dan's soul screamed in protest. He couldn't breathe, not properly, as if a hand had clamped down on his windpipe. The kernel of doubt he'd been harboring from the beginning started to grow, thrashing in his brain with painful intensity. He didn't want it to. G.o.d, he didn't. He wanted to go on believing, trusting, hoping. He snapped open the folder in defiance, while the doubting part of him shouted in vindication, Look at it, fool. You always knew...

Papers fluttered to the floor. Jamie reached for them, picked them up, and stuffed them into Dan's hands, making sure Dan could read the letterhead. Dan recognized the hospital name, a well-known inst.i.tution with a decent reputation for helping people in crisis, for treating those with mental illnesses, who had suffered psychotic breaks and similar life-altering occurrences.

"Makes for interesting reading," Jamie said.

"Where did you get this? There are procedural-"

"Her mother. Maris's mother. She thought she might help her daughter somehow."

The light in Dan's world fragmented and fell away, leaving only darkness.

Naturally, Jamie wouldn't let him drive home without following close behind. Jamie sent a car ahead, as well, a marked unit to stand by outside. Although formal charges weren't being levied until after Jamie spoke with a district attorney, he wanted to search the place from top to bottom in an effort to locate more evidence. Not implicating Dan, Jamie had a.s.sured him, but on the presumption Maris felt comfortable enough at his home that she might have stashed something there. Dan's stomach turned and speared down into his guts.

Nothing would be found because she wasn't guilty. And even if she was guilty, she wasn't stupid.

He hated himself for thinking that way, for the offhand manner in which he switched from innocence to guilt, as if it didn't matter, as if it might possibly be anything but the former. His fingers tightened around the wheel. At the stop sign, he narrowed his eyes, concentrating hard in warning. Maybe she would receive the message and take whatever steps to get herself away in time.

Like a guilty person. She couldn't do that. She had to stay put and see this whole thing through. And what the h.e.l.l was he thinking anyway? She couldn't sense his thoughts, she couldn't see the future, clairvoyance didn't exist, and neither did telepathy. He'd glanced through the doctor's notes, the clinical wording of the report. Maris had been admitted at sixteen following a breakdown of sorts and hadn't left the hospital for nearly a year, at which time she'd been clear about one thing. Her supposed gift wasn't real but only a delusion that had driven her into depression. She'd blamed her aunt for all of it. Familial grudges were the most difficult to overcome and could linger beneath the surface for a lifetime.

"Maris," he whispered, unable to wrap himself around what he'd learned. On the surface, he recognized everything presented to him had been done so in such a light as to make her seem other than who she was. But the cop in him-well, the cop in him was confused as all f.u.c.king get-out.